Hate is easy
by C for Do Dur
Summary: Haruka didn't want to think about it. All he knew is that he hated Rin. It was the easiest thing to do. Sequel to Promise and Rin's victory.


_Free!_ does not belong to me. Neither does _High Speed!_

This story is kind of a sequel for _Promise_ and _Rin's victory_.

* * *

_**Hate is easy**_

.

_I hate you_.

Glaring at the cold stone, Haruka repeated those words in his mind, over and over again. It was _true_, anyway. And, most importantly, it was the least painful way to sum up everything he couldn't stop feeling. Hatred was easy, plain, much simpler than dealing with emotions Haruka was too afraid of to even trying to name.

His right hand's nails dug into his left forearm when a new wave of pain made him felt nauseous. _I hate you_, he thought again, dropping to the floor, nails sinking deeper into his skin. It hurt, but not enough. Not enough to make him forget the _other_ pain, to make him stop feeling. His insides cried and Haruka briefly wondered if his heart had been made to bear that grief.

"I hate you," he said aloud. His own voice sounded strange to him, as if it wasn't his.

He wasn't sure about what he'd expected, but Rin didn't come back. He never would.

Maybe that's why Haruka was trying so hard to hate him.

.

_Rin was awake._

_Haruka could tell even without looking at him. His laboured breath had speeded up a bit, and the hand Haruka held with his own squeezed his fingers weakly. Raising his eyes from his lap, Haruka looked at Rin._

_His eyes didn't shine anymore. They were dark, dull. Lifeless. Just like they'd been since last week. Just like he'd be soon. Knowing that there was nothing that could be done had taken the life out of Rin, even if his heart was still beating, trying to win a lost battle._

_Haruka couldn't blame him._

_However, he tried to bring _his_ Rin back. He wanted to have him one last time before it was too late; maybe it was a selfish reason, but Haruka didn't want Rin to spend his last days like that. He would spend hours talking, trying to make Rin reply or snap at him, with little success. Rin opened his eyes, ate his food, looked at Haruka, but no smile or frown would appear on his face. It was as if he didn't listen to him._

_That night, Haruka was too tired to keep trying. Hopelessness had settled inside him, and he no longer could lie to himself and think that Rin would live if he spoke. The two of them, Rin and Haruka, had achieved great things together, but life and death were beyond them._

_It was frustrating._

_Haruka stood up and got closer to the bed. Rin's eyes followed his movements, but he didn't show any emotion. Haruka opened his mouth, but he'd never felt so helpless. He was afraid of failing again. He didn't know what to do anymore, so he just kissed Rin's forehead._

"_I'm sorry." The words came out of Rin's mouth just when Haruka's lips were on his skin._

_He moved back and looked at him. For the first time since he'd fallen into that state of apathy, Rin was looking and _seeing_ Haruka. His eyes were somewhat alive again; they weren't filled with the fire Haruka missed so much, but at least he could read something in them: sadness, fear, regret._

"_Sorry for what?" Haruka asked when he found his voice._

_Rin tried to sit up, but he was too weak to do it himself. Haruka helped him and Rin leaned on his shoulder, his arms shaking when he hugged Haruka._

"_For _this,_" Rin said quietly. Haruka knew he was crying when he felt the wetness on his shoulder. "I really tried… Damn, Haru. I swear I…."_

"_I know," Haruka replied. "I'm not angry."_

_It was true. Haruka felt selfishly happy just to have that tiny part of Rin back. And he'd learned Rin was too precious for him to get mad at him right now._

"_But I promised," Rin whispered. Haruka ran his hand through Rin's hair. "You kept your promise and I didn't. I'd hate me if I were you."_

_Haruka hugged him tight._

"_You can't promise that," he said. "We both knew it." Rin stifled a sob. "It's not your fault."_

.

Haruka shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to keep the memories away. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to realize that there was no universe in which he could hate Rin, that he just wanted him back. Hating Rin was easier than facing the pain, the desperation.

Haruka didn't realize he was crying. He didn't feel the pain in his arm; he didn't see the red blood painting his pale skin. Rin wasn't there. And he couldn't hate him. No physical pain could be worse than that.

Somehow, between an agony Haruka didn't know he could feel and a confusion unknown up until then, he managed to recognize the person who grabbed his shoulders and helped him to stand up; he didn't know what he was saying, but his voice was more familiar to him than his own. Haruka didn't even care about whether his best friend pitied him; he just let Makoto take him where he wanted.

Haruka recognized his friend's house when Makoto made him sit down on the couch and covered him with a blanket; and slowly he regained the ability to listen, while Makoto walked around him doing something Haruka wasn't interested in.

"…all night on the graveyard. I couldn't find you; I was worried." Silence. "Do you want some tea?"

Haruka raised his gaze and found Makoto sitting beside him, offering a cup. He wasn't smiling; his green eyes were puffy and red. Haruka wondered if Makoto had been crying, too.

"No," he managed to answer. His voice still didn't sound like him.

Makoto sighed, but he didn't insist.

"You should get some rest," he said.

Haruka felt incredibly grateful for not having to listen to _I'm sorry_ or _I know how you feel_ again. He'd had plenty of them lately and he hated every single of them. He was too lost in his own feelings to realize Makoto hadn't said anything about his injured arm, either.

"I don't want to rest," he replied. "I want him back."

_What happened to my voice?_

It took a while for Makoto to speak again. And Haruka would have never expected him to be so clear, so _cruel_. He couldn't have guessed that one day he wouldn't want to hear the truth, either.

"He's dead, Haru."

Haruka shook his head.

"Shut up."

_This isn't my voice_, he thought again.

"I don't like it," he mumbled, wondering who was repeating his words aloud. He wouldn't let himself sound like that.

"You don't have to," Makoto replied, his voice softening. Was it because he'd also realized there was something odd in Haruka's words? Haruka wanted to believe it. After all, Makoto was the one who knew him best. He clutched the edge of the blanket.

"I hate him." His voice cracked.

And it was then when he realized why he didn't recognize his own voice. Haruka had never let so many feelings slip into his words. It wasn't something he did on purpose, so now he couldn't remember how to keep his emotions to himself. And it was too much pain, too much anger he didn't know how to fight.

Next thing Haruka knew was that Makoto was hugging him. He barely felt his tears streaming down his face again; all he could understand at that moment was that his friend knew too well that his words were a lie.

"I don't," he muttered, although he knew Makoto knew. "I don't hate him. _I wish_ I could hate Rin."

Makoto said nothing. For once, it was Haruka who mumbled the first thing that came to his mind and Makoto the one who was silent. He never complained about it, and kept listening to Haruka's messy sentences.

Haruka wouldn't remember everything he said. He told Makoto how helpless he'd felt for months; how he didn't know if he regretted having believed Rin's promise; the pain of seeing Rin withering, the denial when he'd been told everything he could do was waiting for his death. The last day, when Rin had laughed remembering the old times and had fallen asleep with a smile. How he hadn't woken up again.

He didn't dream when he finally fell asleep due to utter exhaustion, still crying in Makoto's arms. When he woke up again it was night time; Haruka had no idea how many hours he'd slept. He was still in Makoto's couch, wrapped up in more blankets. But it was cold anyway.

Haruka hugged himself and closed his eyes. The only thing he wanted to be warmed by was gone and would never come back.

"And still I don't hate you," he whispered to the darkness.

* * *

_Author's Notes_: I'm... sorry? Well, no, I'm not, who am I kidding? I finished my exams and wrote it because the idea has been in my head for a while. My first language isn't English still, and I've read the story six times, but I bet there are a few mistakes, so if you find them, please let me know.

Also, have you liked it? I love reading what you think :)


End file.
